


you make me happy when skies are gray

by deathlytireddan



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Merry just wants to steal mushrooms with Pip and not grow up, or figure out what he wants in his life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27136747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathlytireddan/pseuds/deathlytireddan
Summary: It was like all of the Brandybucks and all of the Tooks got together, made a plan, and decided enough was enough,You Are All Grown Up Now.
Relationships: Background Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee, Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	you make me happy when skies are gray

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be me barely concealing my love of autumn while practicing writing these two, and then it turned into Merry being lonely (wonder where that came from) and then delved into the wonders of growing up. Oops?
> 
> Also! LGBTQ+ people are perfectly accepted in the Shire, because we don’t have time for any of that homophobia   
> nonsense here.
> 
> Also also! I wrote this thinking of it taking place after Gandalf gives Frodo the ring but before the Fellowship, sometime early on in that 17(?) year time span.

Autumn in the shire is a time of peace. Gone are the short, snappy days of spring, when the world wakes and shakes itself into new life. Gone are the long, hot days of summer, marked by fields of dappled sun and sudden summer storms.

Now is a time of slow, winding days, of lighting the fires and stocking the pantries. It’s a time to bring out the heavy fur coats, shake out the rugs, unfold the quilts. It’s a time of creature comforts and extra helpings of pie in front of a merrily crackling hearth.

The air is crisp and fresh and clear. It fills the lungs. Dark clouds over the distant mountains promise snow, but the sky over the Shire always remains stubbornly blue, except for one autumn, this one, when it rained and rained and rained.

-

Merry thinks no where in the world does autumn quite like Buckland does. He might be a little biased, but he thinks he’s come and gone from Bag End enough to know that a Hobbiton autumn is just different from a Buckland one. Here, the air itself feels alive, charged with anticipation. The leaves are redder, shine more brightly gold when the sun sets behind them.

It’s more wild, somehow. Maybe because the trees are older, swaying and creaking in the wind, watching. The edges of the forest creep in at night, and the stories of monsters and spirits seem a little closer.

Except for this autumn. This autumn is cold, and dreary, and gray. This might also be biased, because he’s currently trudging uphill with water sloshing over the sides of his boots, soaking his socks (even Hobbits wear rainboots, when the world is this drenched), and the wind is sending needles of cold water into his face, down his shirt collar.

If Pip were here he would laugh at the dreariness, laugh at their soaked feet, laugh until he slipped on wet leaves and fell on his bottom. He’d demand to be carried like when they were children.

Merry feels quite out of sorts, he realizes, with a sort of belated unhappiness. He stops on the cobblestones, feels water trickle down his back, and thinks about just sitting down on the road, gossipy Hobbits peaking out of their windows at him or not.

He forces himself to continue on, not wanting anyone to gossip that the future Master of Buckland is crying in the rain for no good reason. Everyone grows up, and realizes that an autumn is just an autumn. They’re all growing up, him and Pippin and Frodo, and Frodo’s Sam. Merry will just have to get over this, and continue on with his duties.

And then he slips, and falls on his bottom.

-

The whole problem, really, is that Merry hasn’t seen Pip in weeks. They’ve been busy, after their indulgent summer fun, and their parents decided it was high time they grew up and learned how to be proper gentlehobbits, no longer coming home covered in mud and with stolen mushrooms down their trousers.

It was like all of the Brandybucks and all of the Tooks got together, made a plan, and decided enough was enough, _You Are All Grown Up Now._

-

After a bath and a supper, Merry draws his curtains and climbs into bed. His parents are down the hall. He hears his father’s low voice say something indistinct, and then his mother’s higher laugh. His father laughs when she does, gratified.

Merry positively _aches._

He could go on over to Tookborough, if he really wanted, without an invitation. They always did before. But everything feels wrong and different and out of sorts. Merry also doesn’t want to send a formal invitation, as it feels like an acceptance of this change.

He muffles a groan into his pillow, then switches to covering his ear when he hears his parents talking again. He can’t stand it.

_I want that with Pippin._

Merry backtracks, shoves that thought into a trunk and piles several more on top of it. He concentrates on breathing steadily, in and out, the tap-tap-tapping of the rain on his window a steady background noise, and despite his busy mind, he settles into sleep.

-

Frodo shows up the next afternoon, uninvited, looking frazzled. He has a book under one arm, as always, and a firm set to his mouth that has Merry wary. He invites Frodo inside to one of Brandy Hall’s many sitting rooms, asks for tea to be served, and sits down across from Frodo anxiously.

“What’s going on?” He asks finally, when Frodo remains silent, absently thumbing the pages of his book.

Frodo startles, as he always does when he thinks he’s being sneaky in his thoughts and everyone always sees through him. “Well.” He sighs. “I saw Pippin yesterday, as it happens.”

Merry tries not to shake Frodo’s shoulders. “And?” He urges.

Frodo shrugs. “He seems a bit down, is all, and I wondered what you thought?”

Merry shifts. “We haven’t - we haven’t all got together in a while, you know?”

Frodo looks confused. “I know, but you two were always off together, running amok. You haven’t seen him?”

Merry feels himself deflate. What’s the point of keeping this from Frodo? Frodo has his Sam, he’ll understand, won’t he?

“See,” Merry starts, stops, clears his throat and tries again. “Everything feels different since this past summer. I have more duties, learning from my father to be Master some day. And I assume Pippin is learning too, since I saw him in town once wearing these very fancy clothes - “

Frodo looks amused here, but urges Merry on.

“And, I don’t know. I had a realization, I s’pose. And I don’t like it.”

They stop while they’re served tea, and spend a good few minutes selecting their favorite treats to eat along with it. When they settle back down again Frodo has a look in his eye.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Merry chokes on a biscuit.

“Well, I can’t speak for him, but when we went out walking, and to find a good spot to smoke our pipes, he finally started talking about what was going on, and why he seemed so down. And, Merry, he as good as said it! You’ve both always been so close I assumed you were already courting, only very private about it.” Frodo looks very stern now, and finshishes with, “And I’m worried for him, Merry.”

Merry is about ready to run all the way to Tookland at this, but he takes a sip of tea instead. “Oh. I see.”

“Shall we go back together? I’ll join you as far as I can before I must turn for Bag End.” Frodo looks happy now, and takes a second helping of biscuits.

Merry thinks hard for a moment. “No, I’ll go tomorrow. Thank you, Frodo.”

When they hug, Merry catches a glimpse of a pale blue sky through the window, and a bit of sun peaking through onto Buckland.

-

The next day, Merry bathes, scrubbing his skin until he’s pink and clean and smells of every lotion he’s snuck from his mother over the years. He dresses comfortably, but nicely.

He takes a carriage to Tuckborough, knee bouncing the whole way. He spots a few yellow wildflowers clinging to the side of the road, not yet touched by frost, and jumps out to pick them. He doesn’t know if Pip is the kind of boy that wants flowers, but it seems like the proper thing to do.

It’s strange, this love business. It makes him question everything he knows about Pippin, and he doesn’t like it one bit. Him and Pippin have always been one and the same, as long as memory can tell. Merry needs to sort this out so they can go back to being them again. Because he’s sure, even with courting and kissing and loving, they’ll still be _them,_ once they’re on the same page.

If Pippin agrees, that is.

His leg starts bouncing again.

-

Merry finally reaches Pippin’s home. It makes his heart squeeze, seeing it approach from inside the carriage. There are so many memories everywhere he looks, mostly ones of him and Pippin getting in trouble. They were constantly being shoved out of the flowerbeds before they could trample every poor plant.

Merry tries to remind himself that he’s still Merry, and Pippin is still Pippin, and that nothing truly has to change.

He knocks.

The door takes a while to open, and Merry realizes it’s still early, long before second breakfast. He adjusts his little bunch of flowers, shifts his feet, debates knocking again.

The door opens a crack. Pippin peers out, obviously suspicious as to who could be knocking at this time. His eyes settle on Merry, then travel lower to the flowers, and back up. He looks sleepy and confused.

Merry just wants to bundle Pippin up into his arms, but he holds out the flowers instead. “These are for you.”

Pippin opens the door wider. His shirt is rumpled and only half tucked into his trousers, and one suspender is hanging off his shoulder. And Frodo was right. He does look a little off. The unhappy tilt to his mouth is the same one Merry has been seeing in all of those puddles.

Pippin takes the flowers, giving them a little sniff. His hair is longer, curling about his ears adorably.

Merry pulls up the wayward suspender, hand lingering unconsciously. Pippin grips it. “Why’s it been so long since I saw you?”

Merry exhales, gripping Pippin’s hand back. It’s like no time at all has passed. Pippin’s eyes are moving about his face, taking him in, just as Merry had done.

“Peregrin...Pip.” Merry doesn’t know how to do this. He isn’t romantic.

“Yes, Meriadoc?” A bit of that wry tone is back.

“Well.” Merry looks at the flowers. “You know. You know. Uh.”

Pippin scoffs. “You are hopeless! Frodo came by late yesterday, saying I should expect a visit soon, that you’re almost as lovesick as I am,” he turns pink at this, like he hadn’t meant to say it. “Well? Are you? Because I don’t want to lose you, Merry, but I know we can’t go on like we have been. We have to be...grown up, I suppose, at least with other people around. We can’t just play in the fields anymore. We have to decide what this is going to be.”

Trust a Took to just come out and say it. Merry pushes into Pip’s arms, ignoring the flowers crushed between them, and laughs into Pippin’s neck. “You perfect thing.”

Pippin smacks at his back. “Shush.” But he is grinning, and Merry is grinning, and everything is all right again, and then Pippin is pulling Merry forward by his belt loops, and closing the door with his foot. “There. No more gossips peaking.”

Merry grins. “‘Oh, those two again! Will they ever grow up! Kissing in the streets they was, without a care who saw them. I say! Why -‘“

Pippin fits their mouths together. His mouth is soft, nervous almost, but insistent. He pulls away after a moment, looking back and forth between Merry’s eyes.

“That’s one way to get me to shut up, I’ll give you that,” Merry breathes into the space between them. Pippin steers Merry into a little coat closet, barely large enough for them to squeeze into.

“I don’t think this is proper courting, but I’ve found that I don’t mind,” Pippin says, out of breath, a long while later. His mouth has been kissed red, his eyes are sparkling, and there’s a mark starting on his shoulder, just where that suspender refuses to stay up.

Merry thinks his own eyes are probably glazed over. He feels like a lovesick fool. His head thunks against the back of the wall, and he can’t stop grinning. Pippin’s mouth quirks. That _mouth._

“No, probably not,” Merry agrees, leaning back over. They have time, yet, for all of those grown up gentlehobbit duties. For now, he’s going to kiss Pippin again, and again, and again, just because he’s finally allowed to.

-

That cold, chilly, dreadfully dreary autumn went down in Hobbit history. The constant flooding was talked of for seasons after, but more so than that they talked of how one Meriadoc Brandybuck went into Peregrin Took’s house and didn’t reemerge until the first frost had frozen over the Brandywine, and saying to all who asked why, “There’s plenty of time for growing up to be done yet, and we are busy _courting_!”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you though of this little thing. I’ve never written for lotr before, and I’m only partway through the fellowship, so if any details are off please let them slide. :) hope you enjoyed!
> 
> If you like, you can reblog on tumblr [here](https://windymoons.tumblr.com/post/632625041432100864/you-make-me-happy-when-skies-are-gray)
> 
> (Please forgive that horribly cheesy title, lol.)


End file.
